


Matched

by jaegermighty



Category: Hawkeye (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, F/M, Slice of Life, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-05-28 17:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15053993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaegermighty/pseuds/jaegermighty
Summary: Katie looks confused for a half second, before it dawns. "I think 'filling out your dating profile for you' is one of those things that makes everybody think we spend too much time together.""You know I got fat fingers," Clint whines.





	Matched

**Author's Note:**

  * For [geckoholic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/gifts).



The commercial kinda fades into white noise after the fourth or fifth time, the way all commercials do. Clint could repeat the thing word for word but he still doesn't really process what it's for until Katie points it out. Snorting, flicking a stray piece of popcorn off her lap with a two-finger snap, she says, "you should sign up for that."

Clint barely hears her, watching Lucky snap up the popcorn, licking the floor where it had landed. "Huh?"

"That." Kate nudges his arm, jerking her chin at the TV. Onscreen, an old man with a suit on is talking earnestly about algorithms. "eHarmony."

"A dating site?" Clint splutters. Lucky wags his tail, sitting attentively at Katie's knee, clearly hoping for more popcorn. "Yeah right, pull the other one."

"I'm serious. It's not like you really get a lot of chances to meet people." Which is a sort of generous way to say _you never leave your apartment._ "It's how America's mom met her girlfriend."

"America's the girl with the jacket, right?"

"America, my roommate for the last five years, who you've met a thousand times, who came to your housewarming party, is the girl who wears the jacket you like, yes," Katie says, rolling her eyes.

"Wasn't _my_ housewarming party. You can't just say it was mine when I didn't even know it was happening."

"Your _surprise housewarming_ , which you still haven't thanked me for, quit changing the subject." Kate kicks his ankle, which would hurt a lot more if she weren't wearing fuzzy socks. "I'm not trying to be a jerk. I'm trying to have a conversation, here."

"I ain't joining a dating site," Clint says, turning away with a huff. The show's back on now, an episode of Big Bang Theory, which they're only watching because it's one of the episodes with Aunt Jackie in it, and Katie's totally ruining the experience for him. Which is just typical. "There: conversation over."

Kate frowns, which is the surest sign that she's serious. Kate never frowns - not like this, anyway, not a serious, thoughtful frown. It's always more dramatic - scowls, grimaces, wide eyes, teeth bared. Even when she's mad she's still smirking, always half a second from dropping it and giving into a laugh. "It's been almost a year, Clint."

"We're not talking about this," Clint says, and starts to dig around for the remote.

"I'm not trying to be mean, okay, but - come on, don't do that - " Kate elbows him, right in the gut, and rips the remote away, turning the volume back down. "Be a grown up, dude."

"Your _face_ is a grownup," Clint says. 

Kate narrows her eyes dangerously. "I'm invoking the Rule."

"Aw, come on, Katie-Kat - "

"The Rule, which allows for one party to call the other party on said party's bullshit at least once a month, but no more than twice, subject to extenuating circumstances such as breakups or deaths in the family or jury duty - Lucky, no!"

Kate barely manages to save the popcorn bowl from demolishment by dog, setting it aside on the high table next to the couch with a grimace. Lucky sits back down, tail still wagging. 

"I thought America's mom was married," Clint says. "You know, to her other mom."

"No, they split like, ages ago. America was in high school." Kate huffs. "She's dating a lawyer named Abby now, who is very nice. And rich."

"And she met her on the internet," Clint says, skeptically. 

"It's not creepy anymore," Kate insists. 

"Uh huh."

"It could be, you know." Kate's voice is a weirdly gentle, which makes Clint want to squirm away and hide between the couch cushions. "Good for you."

" _Ugh,_ " says Clint.

"Fine, I'm dropping it." Kate turns the volume back up. "I mentioned it, it's done. You know what I'm trying to say, anyway."

Clint scowls at the side of her head. He knows very well what she's trying to say, and he doesn't fucking appreciate it. "I'm _fine._ "

"Sure," Kate says. 

"Is this because Bobbi's engaged? Because I'm not mad about it. I'm _happy_ for her, even. You don't gotta be all - " Clint waves his hand in the air vaguely. 

"All what?" Kate asks, eyeing him skeptically. 

"All girly about it."

"I am a girl, Clint," Kate says icily. 

"Yeah," Clint says lamely, shrinking back at the look on her face.

"So."

"So," Clint says warily. They stare each other down for a long moment. Lucky gets fed up first, sticking his nose into Clint's lap, tongue lolling out. 

Clint scratches behind his ears obligingly. Kate blinks, raises one judgmental eyebrow, and turns back to the TV.

"God, I hate this show," Kate says, after a minute. 

"Change it then," Clint says, then gulps, preparing himself, "girlie."

Kate kicks him again, viciously, right in the thigh. Clint howls in pain.

"Just for that," Kate says nastily, "we're watching Glee."

Clint groans, rubbing his leg. He deserved that, he figures. 

 

 

 

He doesn't _need_ to meet people. He doesn't need to _get out._ He's got plenty of friends, and acquaintances, and neighbors. People! In his life! People besides Katie, even! Mrs. Rosen upstairs makes him come to her dinner parties, and sometimes he goes to the sports bar down the block to watch football. There's a few guys there who know him. Sorta. They nod when they see him, anyway. 

Whatever. Katie doesn't bring it up again, but Clint knew what she was trying to say; the damage is done. For no reason at all, he keeps thinking about one of the fights he and Bobbi had in the last couple weeks before she moved out. She'd said he was _determined to be unhappy,_ like it was an accusation, like he was doing it on purpose. Like he was keeping all the fuck up in his head there on purpose just to annoy her. 

Goddamn Katie, anyway. Clint thinks about it a lot, over the next week or so. 

His life ain't nothing special. His job is easy and mostly stupid - he fixes toilets, mostly. On exciting days, he argues about rent. One time he even threatened a shitty ex-boyfriend, which is a story he still tells to strangers at Mrs. Rosen's dinner parties. Bobbi didn't like it, living here in his well worn building, being Mrs. Landlord, going to the store on Sundays, watching reruns at night with pizza. Bobbi also wanted kids, which was the bigger obstacle, but when your marriage is imploding around you it's a lot easier to focus on the day to day stuff, which was how fucking bored she was, trying to fit her bright colors into Clint's slow-shuffle life. His boring, flavorless, routine, peaceful, dream-come-true life. Bobbi didn't get it. 

He really is happy for her, about the new guy. Really. Katie doesn't believe him, but Katie makes too many assumptions, sometimes. But it's also been a long time since Clint thought about anyone in a serious way, with _intent,_ despite Mrs. Rosen's pointed introductions - the friends of granddaughters and nieces - as if he hasn't noticed. Clint's had some one night stands, he dated a bartender for a few weeks, right after the divorce was final - but he was in a bad place, and there hasn't been anyone since. Nobody at all, really, except for Kate, who doesn't count. 

Kate, who doesn't bring it up again. Clint thinks about it anyway. 

"Alright," Clint says, the next time she's over. He shoves his laptop at her, scowling. Kate takes it gingerly, like she thinks it might explode. "If we're doing this, you're typing."

Katie looks confused for a half second, before it dawns. "I think 'filling out your dating profile for you' is one of those things that makes everybody think we spend too much time together."

"You know I got fat fingers," Clint whines, and Kate rolls her eyes, but opens the laptop anyway. "Just read the questions to me and I'll answer 'em. You can make it sound good."

"This is a lot of power you're giving me, Clint, my man," Kate says, grinning a little as she clicks. "I like it. Feels good - feels _right._ "

Clint sighs and grabs a beer from the fridge. He's definitely gonna need it.

The first chunk of questions are basic - name, age, gender, what have ya. Kate makes him skip the income question, and then smiles thoughtfully at the screen for a few minutes, silently clicking.

"Are you answering stuff on your own?" Clint asks suspiciously.

"Just demographics still," she dismisses. "You're still officially a non-smoker, right?"

"Officially," Clint agrees.

"Good enough. Religious beliefs or spirituality?"

"Not applicable."

"Alcohol?" Kate snorts. "Never mind."

"I drink socially," Clint says, gesturing at her pointedly with his bottle. " _Socially_."

"Alright, alright. Okay, we're onto the real questions." Kate straightens up a little, eyes bright and sharp. "What are you passionate about?"

Clint's mind goes blank. Just utterly, emptily blank. "Uh," he says. 

"'Think of something that energizes you,'" Kate recites, squinting at the screen. "'Something that brings you joy, fulfillment, or a sense of purpose.'"

Clint's first thought is Lucky, which is probably sort of sad, and also probably doesn't count. "Uh," he says again. 

Kate looks at him, smiling a bit indulgently. "Take your time, big guy."

"I dunno. Put down...my job, or something."

She bites her lip a little, looking up at the ceiling briefly. "'My work,'" she says, in the same reciting voice, "'brings me in touch with a lot of different people. Getting to know them and being part of their lives, even for just a little while, brings a lot of meaning to my life. My community is very important to me.'"

Clint almost chokes on his beer. "What the fuck," he says. 

"Well, it's true," Kate says, tapping a key loudly and definitively, as if to make a point. "Next question: Three things you're thankful for."

"Beer," Clint says, just to make her snort. Which she does, satisfyingly. "Lucky, and...sitcoms from the mid-2000s."

"Those are too shallow," Kate says. "Plus, every guy on here is gonna have that same kinda bullshit. You gotta dig a little deeper, man."

Clint shrugs. "Put Lucky down, at least."

Kate nods, already typing. 

"And…" Clint thinks about Mrs. Rosen's leftover lasagna in his fridge, "my neighbors."

Kate nods again, approvingly. Encouragingly. 

Clint watches her for a second, thinking suddenly of the day they'd met, years ago, now. Just a snotty rich kid, stealing wallets for kicks on the subway. He tried to just steal it back, without her noticing, not wanting to make a scene, but she'd caught him and screamed her head off, in the middle of the street. _How dare you, get your hands off me, no I don't wanna go with you to your van,_ the whole nine yards. Took nearly an hour with the cops to get it sorted out and she did it all just to piss him off. Smirking the whole time - and now here she is, eight years older, wearing his Knicks sweater and asking about his passions. 

"Friends," he says. 

"Good answer," Kate replies, still clicking-clacking away. "Okay: how far should we search for your matches? Like, distance."

"In the city," Clint says. "But not the whole city. So just put down Brooklyn, maybe."

"I'm putting down Queens, too," Kate says. "Come on! There aren't _that_ many chicks here."

"Fine," Clint grumbles. "What's the next question?"

"Ooh, this one's perfect: what four words would your friends use to describe you?" She cackles. "It's like they know."

Clint swallows nervously. "Hey now, Katie-Kat - "

"Shush," Kate says, typing furiously. 

"You're not even gonna tell me what you're writing?!"

"I'm making you sound good, don't worry," Kate says. "How happy are you with your physical appearance?"

Clint looks down at his dirty Dropkick Murphys t-shirt. "Ecstatic."

Kate smirks at him. "I'm picking the middle option. That way people won't think you're arrogant."

Clint shrugs, finishing off his beer and rising to grab another from the fridge. "Whatever. You're the expert."

"I'm not an _expert,_ I just know more than you, which isn't hard. No, gimmie one of the flavored ones," Kate says, waving off his offered Corona. "No, not that one, the grapefruit stuff in the back - the tall boys - "

"There's no _grapefruit beer_ in my - oh," Clint says, pulling it out from behind a carton of eggs. "Where the fuck did this come from?"

"It was on sale," Kate says, making gimmie hands. "It's good! Don't give me that look."

"You're such a - "

"If you call me a girl again I'm leaving," Kate says, cracking open her can. 

"Fightin' words from somebody drinking juicyfruit beer," Clint grumbles. Kate just smirks at him. "Keep going, why don't ya, let's get this over with."

"This next one is like, a list," Kate says. "'In the past month, have you felt…'" she waves her beer in the air: _so on, so forth._ "You have to pick 'rarely,' 'occasionally,' or 'almost always.'"

"'Kay," Clint says, settling in. 

"Happy."

"Occasionally."

"Sad."

"Occasionally."

"Misunderstood."

"Occasionally."

Kate eyes him. "Satisfied."

Clint pauses, licking his lips. "Occas - "

"Clint!"

" - ionally. What?"

Kate huffs. "I'm just gonna do this one for you too."

Clint grins down at his beer. 

"'Are you - ' oh," Kate says, and stops to clear her throat. "Are you open to dating someone who already has children?"

Clint freezes, just for a second. "Seriously?"

"Okay, yeah. I know." Kate bites her lip, clicking quietly for a minute. "We don't have to keep doing this, you know. It was just an idea."

"Well, we're already doing it, aren't we?"

Kate shrugs. "Only if you want."

Clint sighs. He doesn't know what he wants. "What's the next question?"

"What's your favorite month of the year?"

"July," Clint says. Summertime, rooftop parties. Nadine and Tommy in 3A had their little girl in July last year, Clint's thinking he'll host some kinda birthday barbecue, if they're up for it. Katie's birthday is the twentieth and they'll go somewhere for it, like they always do, so Kate can avoid whatever weird rich people plans her family will want to do. Last year they went to Boston, a baseball game at Fenway Park. Kate tried to wear her Yankees shirt, like an _idiot,_ and they argued all morning about it before he just stole it from her bag and hid it in his truck. She didn't speak to him for hours but by the fourth inning - and after a couple of nine dollar beers - it was fine. She admitted he was right, even. A couple weeks later, but still. 

Kate wrinkles her nose. "I hate July."

"Oh shut up, you do not."

"I hate summer," Kate whines, typing with one hand, her chin cradled in the other. "It's a good answer, though. Okay: what do you do for fun?"

"Movies," Clint says. He and Kate saw the new James Bond last night; maybe he can get her to go see it again tonight, after they're done. "Music - live music, like, you know, concerts. Um - "

"Walking Lucky? I'll put down 'going for walks.'" Kate grins. "Basketball."

"Don't put that down," Clint complains. "You cheat, anyway."

"Do not." Kate's typing faster now, with both hands. "Gimme one more thing."

Clint tries to think of the last time he had fun - like real fun, the laughing out loud, don't want it to end type, and grins suddenly, thinking of a rainy night last spring. "Performance art."

"Oh, for - I didn't _know_ that's what it was! Teddy told me it was a poetry slam!"

"Did I say anything? No. It was _fun_."

"You're gonna get some weirdos with this one," Kate grumbles, but types it in dutifully. "Alright, here's the million dollar one: what qualities are you looking for in a partner?"

"Aw, man." Clint takes a long pull of beer, thinking. "Low maintenance. Doesn't take herself too seriously, yaknow?"

Kate's nodding, typing slowly, all her concentration on the computer. "But not lazy. I'm gonna put 'easygoing.'"

Clint shrugs. "Smart, funny. That's what everybody says though, ain't it?"

"Doesn't mean it's not true. What else?"

Clint thinks some more. Tries to picture the kind of woman he could date, who could fit on the couch with him and Kate. Someone indulgent, who would laugh at Katie's sharper jabs, didn't take anything too personal. Somebody who'd learn sign language, so he doesn't have to wear his aid all the time, somebody spontaneous, who could get her hands dirty a little, drink beer out of plastic cups and play darts with José in 7B, crowd in around Mrs. Rosen's dinner table on Thursday nights, knock knees with Kate at the kitchen counter in the mornings. Somebody tough, clever, quick on her feet, sharp tongued - long hair, maybe. Somebody who likes spy movies, and bar crawls in winter, who loves dogs and playing peek-a-boo with babies and messing around with Clint's longbow on the roof sometimes, on warmer nights during the week when nobody else is up there, and - 

Kate's staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to talk again, but Clint's got nothing. _Oh,_ he thinks. 

"Clint?" Kate raises her eyebrows, and Clint sets his beer down on the counter with a hard, hollow thunk. 

"Shit," he blurts. Kate frowns, very suddenly, and Clint's stomach drops. "I mean, I dunno. I'm - put down that - never mind. Never mind. Um - "

"Are you okay?" Kate asks, frowning more deeply now, pulling away from the laptop like she's about to stand up, or reach out, or something. Clint does it before she can, pushing back to his feet, his head spinning. 

"Fine, I'm fine." Clint turns around, like he's gonna leave the room, but that would be weird, without saying anything, so he turns back around again. Kate's looking at him like he's a lunatic, which is probably accurate, so he blurts, "I gotta piss."

"Okaaaay," Kate says, opening her mouth to say something else, so Clint smiles tightly, and does what he does best: he books it.

Over his shoulder, he hears her call out after him, but he's already halfway out the door so he doesn't catch what it is. Probably calling him a freak, because he's a big stupid freak with intimacy issues, slow on the uptake, stumbling through life with blinders on, never noticing where he's going until it's too late and he's already set up shop in a building he never meant to buy. Idiot, idiot, idiot, he thinks, stomping his way up to the roof. It'll make sense on the roof, he figures. Everything usually does. 

He stops at the access door, breathing a little heavily. There's a tiny window with a broken latch that he's been meaning to fix for ages, and he can see his own face reflected in the thick glass - flushed, ashamed, stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Clint tilts, leans heavily against the door. It feels like a balloon in his chest slowly expanding, pushing his heart and his lungs aside, crunching and squeezing them into the corners to make space for a realization, a knowledge that's always been there but now feels overwhelmingly big, now that he's noticed it, acknowledged it, seen it plainly. Katie, Katie-Kat. Kate the Great. _Kate._

"You moron," he says. 

 

 

 

Clint sits up on the roof for a long time, looking at the sky and thinking things over. Bobbi and Katie never got along all that well; mostly Clint thought it was because of the age difference, which he knew weirded Bobbi out. Inappropriate, she called it. _Stray,_ she said once, during one of the really nasty fights. Clint never managed to stop being angry about that one. 

Kate's not a stray, and she's not slumming either, she just likes the same things Clint likes, and she likes doing them with Clint. He gave her a job when she needed one, and now she's done with school and making her own money, and yet she still hangs out in Clint's apartment building, watching TV on his couch and drinking beer in his kitchen and bugging him to make healthy choices. She knows his tenants better than he does because she always helps vet them, and she's better at talking to them too - especially the younger ones, like those college kids in 1C who always turn the corner when they see Clint coming, and Nadine, who always asks after her when she's not around. And Lucky's different on the days she's not there - less energetic, despondent almost, slumping around the apartment like he's been scolded. Clint feels like an dumbass. 

He never thought he cared what other people thought but maybe he does, maybe he kept his eyes averted because of the things Bobbi used to mutter under her breath, or the wary suspicion he gets from Kate's sister, the one who lives upstate. When they walk down the street together he knows what people are thinking, what they assume when they see her leaning up against him in a restaurant booth, stealing sips off his drink at the bar. Or maybe - maybe he was just being a coward about it, afraid to look because on some level he knew, he knew that once he did, he wouldn't be able to look away.

There are people that come into your life for a reason, to teach you something or to correct your course, or to give you some piece of information you really needed but that you couldn't find on your own. Clint knows this because he often _is_ that person for other people, has made a lifetime commitment to being that person who pops in at the right moment and says something kinda smart sounding and then leaves. He's been doing it since he was six; he's pretty good at it, but he's forty-one now, divorced, alone in the world but for a dog and a bunch of people who pay him rent, and Kate. Kate, who sticks around. Kate, who wants him to be happy. 

Clint goes downstairs.

"Oh, hey," Kate says, a bit wary, but having migrated to the couch, seems a bit more copasetic about their current standing than Clint does. She's also eating Clint's leftover lasagna. "You feel better now? Yelled into the void, or whatever?"

"Yeah." Clint spots the laptop, open on the coffee table, and shuts it with one foot. "Listen."

Kate shoves a gigantic forkful of lasagna in her mouth and mumbles something incoherent.

Clint takes a breath and just says it. "I changed my mind, I don't wanna do the eHarmony thing."

Kate chews slowly, eyes on his face. She's wearing jeans, ripped at the knees, with paint stains from the day they redid the lobby together, about three weeks back. Kate argued him out of plain white, into this weird purpleish color that everybody in the building hates. 

"I don't want anything to change."

Clint watches as she swallows, a fairly involved, difficult process considering the quantity of food in her mouth. Her eyes are watering a little. "Okay," she finally says, pounding on her chest with a fist. She sounds like she needs to burp. 

"Okay," Clint says, unsure of where to go from here. He eyes the spot next to her on the couch, and Kate scoots over without being asked, nudging one of the pillows out of the way with her elbow. 

Clint sits. 

"Sorry if I - "

"Nah, you didn't." Clint takes the fork from her limp hand and starts tearing himself off a bite. She didn't even _heat it up,_ jeez. 

Lucky pads his way over, sniffing with interest, and Kate pats the cushion on her opposite side, urging the dog up onto the couch. The whole thing shakes when he jumps up, and Clint rescues the lasagna before he can get his wet nose into it, cradling it protectively against his chest.

"I was eating that," Kate complains idly, opening her arms for the dog. Lucky flops down with a content snuffle, laying his big head against Kate's thigh. 

"It's mine," Clint says, taking a bite. 

"Only technically," Kate says, but she doesn't sound too attached to the argument. The TV's on a cooking show, sound turned down low, and she leans her head back against the couch, lazily watching. "Are you sure you're - "

"Yep," Clint says, trying not to get too worked up about it. 

"Okay. I mean, I didn't mean to - "

"I _know,_ Katie."

"O _kay,_ " Kate says. She stretches out one of her legs and rests her ankle on top of Clint's right foot. She's wearing fuzzy socks again, but they're green, this time, with white stripes at the top. 

Clint eats the rest of the lasagna, and they watch for a little bit. They're grilling steak on TV, and some vegetable that Clint thinks might be an artichoke. When he's finished, he hands the empty bowl back to Kate, who sets it in her lap for Lucky to lick clean. 

"Sometimes you don't do things because you think you don't deserve them, is all," Kate says finally, sounding like she'd been working up to it. "And I think it's stupid. That's what I was trying to do."

"Yeah." Clint thinks about it a little. She's right. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Katie smiles at him, a little shy. Or withdrawn, maybe, is a better word. Shyness isn't really in Katie's emotional vocabulary. "I'll trust you though, if you tell me what you want, that you're okay and everything. You know what you want better than I do."

"I know what I want," Clint says. There's a big, gaping valley in the three inches between them on the couch, with jagged rock all the way down. Clint looks at Kate, best friend he's ever had, his dream-come-true girl, and feels the adrenaline of the cliff edge, the empty space below his feet. "It's okay. I'm fine with the way it is. If it changes, it changes. For now - it's good."

"You're a simple man, Clint," Katie says, still smiling. "No, I'm kidding. That was super profound; I'm kind of proud."

Clint rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

Kate carefully reaches over Lucky - who reacts only by flopping his head over lazily - to grab the remote, and starts flipping channels. "What do you wanna watch?"

"Was thinkin we could go catch a real movie, actually."

"Not James Bond again," Kate says quickly. "And there's nothing else good playing."

Clint huffs. "Nothing good on TV, either."

"You should buy one of those Chromecast things," Kate needles. "I've been _telling_ you - "

Clint groans loudly, trying to drone her out. 

"How much do you pay for cable anyway?" Kate grumbles. "And nothing's ever on! _Netflix_ , man!"

"Half the fun is arguing about it, Katie-Kat," Clint says. "Besides, it gets boring when you can watch whatever you want anytime. With cable, it's always a surprise. There's gotta be some variety to life, you know."

"God, you are such a weird old man," Kate says, rolling her eyes. Clint smirks at her. She flips to a Friends rerun, skipping past it because she's pressing the button so fast, then cries out and flips back. "Oh hey, a Janice episode!"

"Oh, I like her," Clint says, settling in. 

"Me too," says Kate, scratching Lucky's ears roughly, leaning down and giving the dog a kiss, right between his big dopey eyes. "She got a bad rap, didn't she, Luck? They were so mean to her!"

Clint smiles to himself, something hot and pulsing deep in his chest. Something he'll have to learn to live with, he supposes. "Dibs on the Manila cookies."

"Oh," Kate says with a sheepish laugh, looking up at him through her eyelashes, "I already ate them." 

Clint sighs. "Of course you did," he says.


End file.
